


Just Let Go

by Brinchestiel



Series: Make Yourself at Home Timestamps [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Castiel and Dean Winchester Being Idiots, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Meditation, Teasing, Timestamp, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:46:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6024256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinchestiel/pseuds/Brinchestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries to join Castiel in his latest fad: meditation.<br/>But, because of who he is as a person, Dean quickly discovers that distracting Castiel is so much more fun than sitting on the floor until his butt goes numb.</p><p>From this here prompt: http://otp-or-notp.tumblr.com/post/131495863640/otp-prompt</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> These timestamps are all from my fic Make Yourself at Home... I'm sure they'll make some degree of sense without that knowledge, but just so's you know. Ugh, I'm so bad at writing in this box. Um.

** Just Let Go **

Dean rolls his shoulders back into Castiel’s, his back only getting more tense the longer he sits cross-legged on the hard-wood floor of their living room. 

“Dean, keep still,” Castiel hisses from behind him, pressing his back into Dean’s as a warning.

“Ugh, meditation is the worst,” Dean complains, opening one eye to cast around the room bathed in midday sunlight, as if he’ll find a host of people readily agreeing with him. The music that Cas has chosen for this latest escapade in _self-betterment_ after Balthazar-gate (which Dean has offered more than once to help with, much to Castiel’s thinly veiled delight) sounds like Dean might have made it in a matter of minutes from the pans in the kitchen cupboard. Drunk. It’s _irritating_.

“Dean, this isn’t just meditation, it’s cleansing _._ We’re _cleansing_ ourselves right now. Just let go,” Cas encourages, reaching behind him in an awkward angle to pat Dean’s knee, wrapped in garish, fluorescent green leggings that are simply too tight around… well, everything.

“Let go of what? I’m not holding anything,” he frowns.

“It’s a meta-“

“I know it’s a metaphor, I just… god, this is so dumb. You know this is dumb, right? It’s so dumb, Cas,”

“Shh, relax,”

“I will _not_ relax, Cas, this is so stupid,”

“So you keep saying, and _yet_ … here you are.” Dean can almost see the smug tilt of his boyfriend’s head and he jabs his elbow playfully into his back.

“Piss off,” Dean snaps, his tone sounding far too familiar and friendly to have any sort of effect. He tries again despite his misgivings, follows Cas’ breaths, as his back expands into Dean’s. His eyes flutter closed once more, and he tries grasping at anything he can find to let go of. Metaphorically speaking of course.

“Anything?”

“Shh!” Dean teases, leaping at the opportunity to use his boyfriend’s words against him, earning him a snort and a few grumbled words.

Dean’s mind flits through the files of ‘Things I have a problem with”. He supposed he could _try_ let go of people who don’t have their Oyster Cards to hand when approaching the ticket barriers on the underground, although the very thought of it makes his blood boil. Almost as much as those who wait until the very last second to step off the escalator: everyone knows the unwritten rule of “Start walking as soon as the escalator goes flat” so why does nobody- no, he’s clearly not ready to let go of either of those. He’ll never even consider letting go of the need to punch Balthazar square in the face if he ever sees the smarmy bastard again, so his mind doesn’t even suggest it. What about that time Kevin tripped and spilled freshly-foamed milk down his uniform at the very start of his shift last week? Yeah, yeah, he could let go of that one. It wasn’t Kevin’s fault after all… well, it was, but it hadn’t completely ruined Dean’s day. Especially when he’d come home later that day to find Cas covered head to toe in flour and several aborted bowls of cake batter.

He sighs as he loosens his grip on the grudge, and Cas’ back wriggles against his,

“See, there goes one,” he comments haughtily.

“Shut it, Nancy,” Dean gripes.

Dean’s mind veers slightly off track, sifting through the “Things that drive me crazy” folder, absently pulling up Cas’ inability to put dishes _in_ the dishwasher, instead settling for an infuriating game of plate-jenga on the surface _just above it_ until Dean relents and packs it for him. The stupidly adorable way he can’t cook anything without making an incomprehensible amount of mess. The gums and wrinkles of his smile when he laughs at Dean’s jokes. How about the way he sometimes hums when he’s asleep, or the way he bites his lower lip so hard before he whispers ‘fuck’, a telltale sign that he’s staring over the thigh-shaking-brink of orgasm? The smell of that body wash, the one from Lush that Cas splurges out on because he _knows_ what it does to Dean. Cas will wash with it just before he asks for something from Dean, because he knows that Dean will crowd against him, hungry and agreeable to anything, damn near swallowing that heady smell of peppermint. Whenever Cas demonstrates how _strong_ he is; Dean sometimes forgets, falls into the trap of mistaking lean for weak. But, god, on those rare occasions when Castiel gets rough, gets het up enough to start holding his wrists above his head, worked up enough to push Dean against any flat surface and _claim_ … Dean just can’t get enough.

Dean feels a warmth spread between his hips, and he squirms a little as he feels himself begin to swell. He wonders if he can get Cas worked up enough to pin him to the floor…

A grin that would make Lucifer himself blush, spreads across his face as his brain formulates an evil plan. A most brilliant, evil plan.

He begins by leaning back into Cas, letting the muscles roll slowly and suggestively. He starts breathing louder, allowing little noises of pleasure to fall past his slightly open lips on every exhale. They start almost inaudible, and Dean thinks maybe Cas hasn’t heard them, but he persists, gradually lengthening into pleasure-filled sighs and gasps as his hips move of their own sensual accord.

“Dean.”

“Yes?”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“What you’re doing-”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Dean-”

“What?”

“Stop.”

“Make me.”

“Dean!”

“Come on, Cas, if you want me to stop so bad, you gotta’ make me.”

“Dean, I was really getting somewhere just now,” Cas’ voice climbs to a whine-y pitch which never fails to make Dean pout in sympathy.

“Sorry, alright, alright I’ll stop,” Dean says, as his hands reach behind him to grip Cas’ hips.

“Dean!”

Dean doesn’t answer this time, instead he inches his fingers beneath Cas’ t-shirt, dragging his nails across the soft skin of his stomach.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is growing softer, and Dean grins triumphant, leaning his head back against his boyfriends shoulder, rolling his hips and letting out a low groan.

“Cas,” he whispers, “Oh Cas, fuck.”

He feels his boyfriend shudder against him as Dean fingers the waistband of his joggers.

“Oh God, Cas, yeah, just like that,” he moans, arching his back and reeling up to nip Cas’ earlobe. He can feel Castiel’s hips begin to rock in tandem with his own, and Dean bites back against the victory warming his chest. _Still got to drive him wild enough…_

“Make me, Cas, make me stop,” he murmurs, palming his boyfriend’s rock hard length through the soft cotton of his joggers, pressing the tip of a finger against the head and delighting when Castiel lets out a sharp moan. When he seems determined to keep up his charade, Dean turns his head to press open-mouthed kisses against the flushed skin along Cas’ neck. He can feel Castiel’s pulse fluttering against his lips. _Almost there._ He turns himself, pressing his chest to Cas’ back, rocking his hips to push his cock against him suggestively, the ludicrous spread of his legs allowing him to get right flush against him. He hooks his chin over Cas’ shoulder, turning to press soft kisses against his jaw, while his hands pet heavily over his chest and stomach, teasing a nipple here, dragging nails there. Cas is panting now, his crossed legs unfurling, his hips rolling upwards, seeking desperately needed friction. He sighs, whimpers but doesn’t give in.

“You have no idea how much I hate you right now,” Cas frowns, the stilted rhythm of his hips making it glaringly obvious how much he’s struggling to keep them still.

“Now, now, Cas, we’re meant to be cleansing right now, hm? No negativity or something,” Dean purrs against his ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth and nipping, just enough to make his boyfriend gasp.

“ _Just let go_ , Cas,” he teases, and bingo! Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner, ladies and gents! One riled up, dark-haired beauty coming Dean’s way, twisting in his arms and situating himself solidly between Dean’s legs. He drapes his body over Dean’s with a growl, and hell yes, Dean was ready to receive his prize.

“God, I hate you so much,” Cas moans through gritted teeth, making the muscles at the clutch of his jaw jump with the strain. But, Dean reckons he can hear a hint of amusement in there somewhere, so he wiggles his hips to accompany his most childish grin.

“I win,” he sings. Castiel’s eyes flash then, a flurry of movement that leaves Dean gasping and suddenly his arms are pinned to the floor by his wrists, wrapped tightly in the long fingers of Castiel’s hand. The other trails slowly down Dean’s chest, all the way to cup him through his ridiculous lycra leggings.

 _Hell fuckin’ yes,_ says Dean’s brain.

“Hell fuckin’ yes,” says Dean.

**Author's Note:**

> What even was this? I don't know :)))))


End file.
